Chapter One
Faking It For My Grumpy Boss
Samantha
It’s official: I’m going to be deported because of a beer.
Just one damn beer.
“Miss Jennings, your visa renewal has been denied,” the immigration officer repeats, tapping his pen on the counter like I’ve just asked him to repeat my death sentence.
He doesn’t even bother to look at me.
His beady little eyes are fixed on the screen, the reflection of my digital doom glowing in his thick glasses. The synthetic leather of the uncomfortable office chair I’m sitting in squeaks under me. The low partitions seem to amplify the muted cacophony in the immigration office that accompanies the smell of stale sweat coming off every surface.
My heart drums a frantic rhythm against my ribcage, my palms are sweating, and all I can think about is how I should’ve never driven that night.
But Rhonda was wasted, practically sliding off her barstool, and every guy in that dive bar had been mentally undressing us like it was their full-time job. What was I supposed to do? Leave her there to become the bar’s ‘happy hour special’? No. So, I drove. After one beer. One lousy beer.
And now, here we are.
I try to compose myself, but my voice comes out higher than I want. “There has to be a mistake. I mean, sure, there was that whole DUI thing last year, but it wasn’t even—”
The agent, let’s call him Officer Dead Eyes, finally turns to me, raising an eyebrow as if I’m an idiot who wandered into the wrong office. “Miss Jennings, driving under the influence is a serious offense. It doesn’t matter if it was just ‘one beer’, as you say.” He uses air quotes, which, in my humble opinion, should be a deportable crime.
“I wasn’t even drunk!” I lean forward, my voice a little too loud.
A couple of people glance at me from the line behind. Great. Now, I’m a spectacle in the Immigration Circus. Just great.
“The cop didn’t care. He gave me the ticket because I wouldn’t give him my number.”
Officer Dead Eyes blinks at me, entirely unimpressed. “Miss Jennings, I’m not here to debate the past. The fact is, your application has been denied. Without a valid visa, you will have to leave the country.”
Leave the country? That’s it? Just like that?
Panic grips me like a vice, squeezing the breath out of my lungs. My mom. My job. My entire life is here, and all this is coming undone because of one stupid, unjust ticket. I feel my throat tighten, but crying in front of this guy would be giving him too much satisfaction.
I clear my throat. “Is there…is there anything I can do? Appeal, maybe? I have a steady job and a place to live. I pay my taxes on time, sometimes early, actually.” I’m babbling now, grasping at straws.
Officer Dead Eyes sighs like I’ve just asked him to solve world hunger. “You can file for an appeal, but that process can take months. And given the DUI on your record…” He shrugs, letting the unspoken words hang in the air: You’re screwed!
I sit back, my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach. Months? I don’t have months. If I don’t get this sorted out fast, I could lose everything.
Are you okay? Rhonda’s text pings on my phone.
She’s been waiting out in the lobby for what feels like an eternity. My best friend since forever, she’s as loyal as they come, but her problem-solving skills are about as effective as a wet paper bag. I glance toward the door where she’s probably sitting, scrolling through her phone with zero idea that my entire world is collapsing in here.
She’s the reason I had to drive that night. If she hadn’t been trying to outdrink a frat boy while we were supposed to be celebrating her promotion, I wouldn’t even be in this mess. Despite that, I’m not mad at her.
Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, I’m furious at myself.
“Miss Jennings?” The officer’s voice snaps me back to reality. “Do you understand the situation?”
“Oh, I understand,” I snap, standing abruptly. The chair screeches behind me. “I understand that I’m being punished for trying to do the right thing while some cop got butt-hurt because I wouldn’t give him my number. And now I might get deported because, apparently, justice in this country depends on whether you’re willing to flirt with the cops.”
I grab my bag and walk out, but not before I see the immigration officer roll his eyes. That’s right, roll your eyes all you want, buddy. I’ll remember that face when I’m on the news, sobbing into a camera about how I was kicked out of the U.S. because of a stupid misunderstanding.
Rhonda springs up the second she sees me. Her curly hair is a mess of golden chaos today, spilling around her face like a rockstar who just rolled out of bed. “What happened? Did they approve it?”
I give her a look that could melt steel. “What do you think?”
“Oh my God, Sam, no,” her hands flying up to her mouth. “No way.”
I nod, barely keeping it together. “Yep. I’m being deported. All because of that night and that asshole cop.”
She winces. “You mean the one you wouldn’t give your number to?”
I throw my hands up. “Yes, Rhonda. That one. The one who was more interested in my phone number than the fact that I was driving you home after you threw back five tequila shots and insisted on karaoke-ing every Adele song in existence.”
“Okay, to be fair, I sound amazing when I sing Adele.”
“You sound like a screeching cat, Rhonda.”
She tugs at her sleeve, trying to hide her smile. “Still. I’m sorry, Sam. This is all my fault.”
“No.” I shake my head, pushing open the door to the street. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who got behind the wheel.”
Rhonda walks beside me, her heels clicking on the pavement. “But it was one beer. How can they deport you for one beer?”
That’s the million-dollar question. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down and see Matthew’s name flashing on the screen. Great. The absolute last person I want to deal with right now. I groan, answering the call. “Yes, Mr. Slate?”
“Care to explain why you left the office in the middle of the day?” His voice is cold, clipped, and professional, like a robot programmed to hate me specifically. “And why, in the midst of the SEC investigating the company, you’ve failed to do your job?”
“I had an appointment. You knew about it.”
What the hell is wrong with him?
“An appointment that’s now interfering with your work, clearly. The SEC investigation is tearing us apart, and you’re supposed to be handling the public relations aspect of this. But I haven’t seen a single positive spin from you on any platform. What, exactly, am I paying you for?”
I grit my teeth. Matthew Slate is many things, successful, attractive (annoyingly so), and colder than a penguin’s ass, but right now, he’s just another complication in a very long line of them. “I’ve been a little busy dealing with the immigration office, Mr. Slate.”
His pause is just long enough for me to imagine him blinking in confusion. “The immigration office?”
“Yes,” I snap. “I have something I need to sort out as soon as possible.”
There’s another pause, and I imagine him sitting in his glass-walled office, staring out at the skyline like a brooding supervillain, probably wearing one of his perfectly tailored suits that scream, I’m better than you.
“Well,” he says finally, his voice softer, but not by much, “I’m sorry to hear that, but you still have a job to do.”
The nerve.
I hang up before I can say something that’ll definitely get me fired, then turn to Rhonda. “That man is the human equivalent of a spreadsheet, completely heartless.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t strangled him yet.”
Oh, it’s on my to-do list, imagining my fingers around his neck.
Later, we’re back at Slate Enterprises, where the building is all chrome and glass, designed to look sleek and futuristic, but it feels more like a giant, corporate prison. We take the elevator to the fifteenth floor, and by the time we get there, I’m already dreading what’s waiting for me: emails, more calls from Matthew, and probably a mild panic attack.
As soon as we step into my small, cluttered office, I throw myself into my chair and put my head in my hands. “How am I supposed to fix this?”
Rhonda plops down on the old couch in the corner, stretching her legs out. “We’ll figure it out. I mean, how hard can it be to fight immigration, fix the SEC scandal, and not get fired by your evil, sexy boss?”
I shoot her a look. “Do not call him sexy.”
And yet…
She shrugs. “Hey, I’m just saying. He’s got that whole ‘rich, powerful, emotionally unavailable’ thing going for him.”
Yeah, and it’s as appealing as a root canal.
Secretly, I know she’s right. Matthew Slate may be many things, but unattractive isn’t one of them.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. “How am I going to fix this visa thing?”
“Well, first things first, you’ll need a lawyer. A really good one.”
Oh crap, a lawyer.
“A lawyer? I can barely pay my rent on time.”
Rhonda rolls her eyes and reaches for her bag, rummaging around until she pulls out a granola bar. “You’re working at Slate Enterprises. I’m sure they’ve got some corporate lawyer who can help you out.”
“Yeah, because Matthew would be thrilled to hear that his PR manager is about to get deported. I’m sure he’d just jump at the chance to help.”
I can already picture his face, stern and unamused, as he challenges me for letting my personal life interfere with work.
“Look, Sam, you need to do something. You can’t just sit here and hope it’ll magically go away,” croaking between bites of her granola bar. “If you don’t handle this, you’ll end up packing your bags and heading back to, wherever you’re from. I still can’t believe you aren’t American.
Toronto… Everything is here. Mom’s here.
That’s the part that stings the most. My mom, who’s still battling her health issues, relies on me for emotional and financial support. If I get deported, I won’t be able to take care of her.
The thought makes my stomach turn.
“You’re not getting deported,” Rhonda assures me with her usual confidence, like she’s the final authority on the matter. “We just need to find a way to make this right.”
I glance over at her, sprawled out on my office couch like she doesn’t have a care in the world, and shake my head. “You know, your optimism is both inspiring and annoying.”
She grins, tossing the granola wrapper into my trash can. “It’s a gift.”
Before I can reply, my phone buzzes on the desk again. I glance at the screen, and sure enough, it’s Matthew, because, of course, it is. He probably wants to chew me out some more for daring to have a life outside of work.
“Don’t,” Rhonda warns, but I’m already picking up.
“What now?” Barely keeping the irritation out of my voice.
There’s a pause on the other end, and for a second, I think maybe the line cut off. But then Matthew’s voice comes through, clipped as always. “I need you in my office. Now.”
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. “I’ll be right there.”
Hanging up, I look at Rhonda. “You know how I said I wouldn’t get fired today? I think I spoke too soon.”
Rhonda smirks. “Don’t let him get under your skin. He’s all bark, no bite. Anyway, bring back that chipper Samantha who seems to annoy him so much.”
Uh-huh, except his bark is loud enough to give a person a heart attack.
Chipper, my ass.
I grab my laptop and start for the door.
Rhonda swings her legs off the couch “Want me to wait here, or should I start planning your deportation party?”
I shoot her a glare. “Hilarious.”